


Ski Lifts and Jump Starts

by QuagmireMarch



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fake Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuagmireMarch/pseuds/QuagmireMarch
Summary: Victor jumps in a ski lift with a stranger to avoid being hit on. It's supposed to be a harmless moment, but he didn't expect the pictures of him and the stranger going viral. And he really, really didn't count on falling in love.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 214
Kudos: 399





	1. Trapped in a Moment With You

Victor twisted his torso, skis making a full turn unwieldy, with his media-polite smile in place as someone put a hand on his arm. Short, pretty enough in that generic Instagram model way so popular at the moment, decked out in gear that probably cost more than Victor’s apartment and had so much mesh the poor thing was likely to get hypothermia before she made it down a bunny slope. He considered her for a long moment, trying to place the vaguely familiar face.

Oh. Right. Celia Armstrong. Daughter of Gregory Armstrong, a sponsor Yakov desperately wanted in place not just for Victor but for the Russian skating team as a whole. Negotiations so far teetered between tenuous and non-existent.

“Celia, what a pleasant surprise!” Victor had no direct role in the negotiations, no interest in them either, especially in the middle of his vacation in the Swiss Alps with Chris. But, he didn’t want to be the reason they tanked either, so he muzzled his annoyance and geared up for a few minutes of polite chit-chat. Then hopefully he could get on the lift and meet Chris at the top of the mountain as planned.

“Victor!” The woman leaned in, her blond hair brushing Victor’s chin as her elaborately made up nails (some kind of gradient polish from pink to sky blue with little be-gemmed snowflakes on some of them) digging into his jacket like hooks. “How fortunate we ran into each other! I didn’t get to talk to you nearly enough when we were in Russia last month.”

Yes, he’d worked very hard to limit their exposure then when the woman insisted on constantly showing up in his space in increasingly skimpy outfits. He’d half-expected to find her naked in his hotel room by the end of the trip. “It was rather busy with training and the talks and,” he paused trying to remember if the woman had done anything of note rather than stalk him around the hotel, but nothing came to mind, “everything else going on,” he finished smoothly.

“Hmm,” Celia practically purred, “well, perhaps we can make up for it now. My family has a private chateau not far from here. We could...catch up.” The way she moved deeper into Victor’s space, breast pressed against his arm made her intentions very clear.

Victor needed an out, and he needed it now. Something that made it clear he was not a proper target for her interest without being at all personal. Something she couldn’t take as a slight. Lacking options, he went with a convenient stand-by. “Sorry, I’m afraid my boyfriend is waiting for me, so I can’t right now.”

“Oh,” Celia looked around with wide eyes and over-acted interest, “where is he? I’d like to say hello.”

Fuck. Never letting the smile waver Victor swung his head around, desperately looking for an out. He really should have just gone with Chris rather than getting that extra half an hour of sleep.

There, getting into the ski lift, alone. Hard to make out much of the guy with his bulky jacket and hat, but he looked roughly the right age if nothing else. Victor gestured expansively as he took several quick steps forward. “There, clearly no longer patiently waiting.” He sped up further and slid into the seat next to the stranger, whispering a desperate “Please play along,” before taking the guy’s hand and leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Celia didn’t give up, moving over to the lift chair, but not quite fast enough as it moved away just before she reached them, though not in time to prevent her from snapping a photo with her cell phone. Though probably, Victor imagined, not a very good one.

Even right next to him, Victor found it hard to get a good look at his companion. Puffy jacket, fuzzy scarf, slightly too-big hat, large glasses. None of them recognizable brands or coordinating colors. He kind of looked like a toddler’s attempt at Build-a-Bear.

Pretty eyes though. Warm brown with deeper swirls the color of a good merlot and flecks of vibrant gold. The depth of them shocked Victor, and for a moment he lost himself just staring into them. And then he realized that a) he was still holding this stranger’s hand and b) said stranger was talking to him.

“...if so I’m really sorry.” The voice was oddly pitched, not high, but not deep either. Mellow and mid-tone and somehow both soft and rich. Also, adorably accented. Victor loved accents, listened to all his competitors talk just to find the variations. This fellow was clearly neither Swiss nor a native English speaker, though that was the language he used.

“Where are you from?” Victor also spoke in English, unlike his earlier French which he now assumed his new friend had not understood. “Your English is very good, but you’re clearly not American or British.”

For some reason the boy looked momentarily crestfallen, but he shook it off immediately, a blush coloring the small bit of his face visible. “Oh, um, I’m from Japan. Hasetsu. But, I’ve been studying in America for four years now.”

Victor nodded, brushing the side of his index finger against his bottom lip. “Midwest? You have some of that in your English.”

“Detroit.” The guy spoke softly, gaze on his hands in his lap. He twisted them, fingers twining and untwining.

Victor nodded again, studying the boy’s profile. The scarf—a hideous purple affair shot through with silver threads and embroidered with some kind of rodents—had slipped down a bit to reveal rounded cheeks and a hit of pale pink lip. Dark hair was plastered to his forehead by the gray wool hat that Victor now saw included little cat ears at the top. He looked younger up close. Very, very young.

And Celia had gotten a picture. That might be a problem later.

“So, Detroit,” Victor said as the ski lift came to a slow stop nowhere near the summit of the mountain, “how old are you? Please tell me you’re at least eighteen or my telling that girl back there you were my boyfriend is going to be a bit awkward.”

The boy startled so hard Victor feared he’d fall right off the lift to his death. Fortunately, years of skating had given him excellent reflexes and Victor wrapped an arm around his waist before the boy could actually come to harm.

Perhaps because of the close call, perhaps for some other reason, Detroit didn’t answer right away, just stared at Victor. Then finally he stammered out an almost inaudible, “Twenty-two.”

“I’m sorry.” He registered the words, but caught again in those inhumanly pretty eyes, Victor had lost the thread of the conversation.

“I’m twenty-two.” The guy looked back down at his hands. “So, you know, well over eighteen.” 

“Right.” Victor offered his best friendly smile. “That’s a relief. Wouldn’t do to have an underage fake boyfriend. I’m Victor, by the way.”

“I know.” Detroit’s eyes somehow went even wider and he threw his hands over his face. “That was rude! I mean, hi. Nice to meet you.” He peeked out from around his gloves, gray like his hat. “Since we’re apparently pretending I’m your boyfriend can we also pretend I’m a functional human being capable of normal communication?”

Victor blinked and then burst out laughing. As shy as the fellow had been so far he’d expected...well, not that. It was charming. “Sure, Detroit, we can do that. So, are you a fan? Since you seem to know who I am?” 

Again, a strange sadness crossed the boy’s—man’s, even if he looked closer to sixteen than the stated twenty-two—face. Victor wondered what caused it, but figured they’d known each other far too short a time to ask. Even if it had started to feel like the ski lift had stopped moving ages ago. Why was that?

“Yes, I guess you could say that. I--”

“Do you think we’ve been still too long? Are the chairs supposed to just stop like that?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know? It hasn’t been that long though, just a couple minutes, I think.”

Victor took a deep breath. He rather disliked heights if he were honest. Not enough to call it a phobia exactly, and certainly not enough to stop him from looking out windows or taking planes or, well, being on ski lifts. But enough that being stuck up on one made him a tad nervous. Restless even. Which was no excuse for rudeness. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off there.”

“It’s okay.” Detroit looked down and then back up at Victor, swallowing once hard enough to be visible. “Can...can I ask you a question?”

“Of course!” Victor beamed, happy for the distraction. “Ask me all the questions you want.”

“Why did you need a fake boyfriend. I mean you’re--” He stopped, face going bright red. “Well, just why?”

Victor sighed. “I was trying to shake a girl. Her dad’s important so I couldn’t just refuse her, so I needed a convenient boyfriend to let her down gently. Thanks for playing along, by the way.”

Detroit nodded and then turned slightly to look at Victor more directly. “Is she likely to still be down there or something. Is that why...” he kind of gestured to Victor’s arm which had remained around Detroit’s waist.

Which, honestly, Victor hadn’t even noticed, but not that it was pointed out he didn’t want to move. There was something comforting in holding on to this quiet, polite, surprising enigma of a man. And Victor needed that comfort, especially when the chair gave a stuttering jerk before moving a scant few inches.

And Victor also needed something, anything to distract him from that little nightmare happening before he started screaming like a toddler. The little lurching jerk happened again and Victor started babbling, reaching for the first thing that came to mind to cover his fear. “Yes! Yeah. She could be watching so, you know, have to make it look good. In fact,” he tugged his new best friend closer, “would you mind maybe, you know, making out a little? Only if you want! I mean if you have a boyfriend already...or a girlfriend! I--”

Detroit stared at him, face pensive as Victor babbled, and then his eyes lit with more of those gold flecks, jaw firming, becoming sharp and angular (and making his cute face morph into something surprisingly hot) before he set his shoulders with a determined nod, leaned forward, and shut Victor up with a kiss.

The initial contact didn’t set Victor ablaze or make him see stars, but it did take his mind off the whole stuck in a failing ski lift however many hundred of feet from the ground. Detroit’s lips were cold and soft between Victor’s own, and for the space of several heartbeats the just sat there, not so much kissing as touching at the lips, neither moving.

Then something shifted in Detroit, and his hands were in Victor’s hair, his mouth hot and demanding. Victor’s mild panic broke under the assault, all of his senses suddenly taken up by gentle nibbles, soft sighs. Detroit both took and gave in equal measures, seeming to pause and adjust as Victor reacted, the kisses getting hotter and more certain every second.

Victor had never been kissed like this before, never had someone adapt so perfectly to his cues. He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, exchanging kisses that grew from that first non-entity to the best thing to ever happen to Victor, up to and including his Olympic medals.

And it wasn’t the passion in the caresses that got Victor, though there was plenty of that as his flushed skin and uncomfortably tight pants could attest, but the care Detroit took. The pauses to ask if Victor was alright, the hesitations to let him catch his breath. Victor couldn’t remember the last time a _real_ boyfriend had treated him with such selfless tenderness. He feared the answer was never.

Victor wanted to live in that gentle affection, wanted to take this beautiful boy home and let him meet Makka and spend whole lazy afternoons just kissing him exactly like this. Except maybe somewhere warmer and closer to the ground.

Then, just as Victor realized he longed to stay in this moment, it ended. The ski lift jerked forward again, but continued moving, shifting into a smooth glide. Detroit apparently took that as a sign because he pulled away and hunched himself in, becoming so compact Victor feared he might become a black hole.

Victor reached out, but found himself at a complete loss for words, still dazzled and confounded by the unexpected feelings Detroit inspired. Detroit. He really should at least get his new, hopefully soon-to-be-real boyfriend’s name. Might make the whole dating thing easier.

Except just as he started to ask, the lift reached the top of the mountain and Victor focused on the wonderful process of getting his feet back on firm ground. It only took a moment and then he turned around, “Hey, what’s your name--”

  
The area next to him was empty. Detroit had disappeared.  
  



	2. Dinner Theater

Victor sulked. He tried not to, tried to focus on having fun with Chris, enjoying the time to relax and recharge. But, still he found himself scanning the slopes for an ugly scarf and cat-earred hat, watching the doors of the resort restaurant for someone with dark hair and lovely eyes. And every time Detroit failed to appear, Victor got just a little bit more pouty.

The fact that Celia showed up _everywhere_ helped not at all. The woman was like a persistent cough, unwanted, irritating, and resolutely not going away. He mostly managed to spot her in time to be elsewhere, but not always.

This time she’d found him standing in line with Chris to get into the restaurant. They had dinner reservations, but still had to make it to the podium to relay that information. Celia, decked out in a sparkly pink mini-dress, walked right passed the people in line and took Victor by the elbow. “Hello again, stranger.” She smiled up at Chris and then frowned. “That’s not your boyfriend.”

Chris blinked, looking at Victor quizzically. He must have caught the pleading look because he offered Celia a charming smile and shrugged. “Alas, Victor’s Prince Charming couldn’t make it tonight, so I am fulfilling my best friend duties and filling in.” He offered a hand. “Chris Giacometti. And you would be?”

“Celia Armstrong.” She blushed as Chris brushed a barely there kiss across her knuckles.  
  


“A pleasure.” He released her hand and crossed his arms, shooting Victor a sly look. “And how do you know Victor?”

  
“Oh,” she latched even tighter onto Victor’s arm, pressing herself into his side, “my father has some business with his coach. Victor’s a very successful figure skater, you know.”

  
“I had heard a rumor to that effect,” Chris doesn’t laugh, but his eyes dance with mirth. “Are you a big skating fan?”

  
“The biggest. Such a beautiful sport.”

  
Her head comes to rest against Victor’s arm, and he has to fight off the urge to swat her away like a bug. Instead, he gently disentangles himself, silently promising to buy Chris a nice bottle of wine when he swiftly pulls Celia back into conversation so she can’t follow, and steps up to the stand where a frazzled woman in a red vest with gold embroidery offers a wilted smile without actually looking up at him.

  
“I’m afraid the wait time is over an hour, sir, but if you want to give me your name--”

  
“We have a reservation.” He interrupts the spiel softly, smile warm and sympathetic. “Under Nikiforov.”

  
The woman’s gaze jerks up, but she merely nods and highlights something on a list before gesturing for another employee to step forward. “Table six,” she says to the boy who looks no older than seventeen. Then she beams at Victor. “Have a lovely meal, Mr. Nikiforov.”

  
Led inside, he is finally free of Celia, but not of Chris and his knowing smirk. At least the man lets him sit down before starting the interrogation.

  
“Well, that was a _fascinating_ little run-in.” Chris smirks over his menu. “So, who is this mysterious boyfriend, and why does some...whatever that woman is to you...know before your best friend? Hmm, mon amie?”

  
Victor let his head fall back and sighed. “You already know there is no boyfriend, Chris. Her dad’s being courted as a sponsor, so I made up a significant other to cut off Celia’s advances. Not that it seems to have worked terribly well.”

  
“Well, you know, she is the _biggest_ skating fan.” Chris chuckled softly.

  
“Yes, so big she didn’t even know you were a skater.” Victor grinned back. “Thank you for the help back there.”

  
“Of course, cheri. But here is the thing I truly want to know,” Chris’s smile became ever so slightly predatory. “Why is it she was so certain _I_ wasn’t your boyfriend? It seems a natural conclusion unless there is some element to this story I am missing?”

  
“I hopped in a ski lift with some guy to escape her. He was clearly shorter and less blond than you.” Victor kept his voice even, but felt his cheeks heat up.

  
Chris very deliberately put his menu down. “Victor. Victor, is this boy the reason you’ve been so distracted? Does the great Victor Nikiforov actually have a _crush_?”

  
“He was sweet, and he had pretty eyes.” Not actually an answer, but certainly close enough to have Chris waggling his eyebrows. “Also, a really good kisser.”

  
Eyes wide, Chris beamed at Victor. “Did you ask him out?”

  
With a sigh, Victor put down his own menu, “I didn’t even get his _name_.” Dropping his head on his arms, he shot sad puppy eyes at Chris. “And now I can’t find him anywhere.”

  
“Yes, a tragedy.” Chris swallowed down his laughter as the waitress came and they ordered their food and drinks. “Did you perhaps, at least, give him your name?”

  
“He knew who I was. I think a skating fan, maybe. A real one, unlike Celia.”

  
Chris frowned. “Oh, Victor, you know how tricky that can be. Maybe it’s for the--”

  
“He’s a fan!” Victor perked up and took out his phone. “Maybe he reached out on social media!”

  
“That would be the less problematic version of this, yes.” Chris also took out his phone, typing quickly.

  
Removing his phone from its do not disturb setting, Victor immediately got flooded with notifications. Not a great sign. If Detroit went online to brag he’d be hearing about it from Yakov forever. Which was a big part of why he never actually did things like make out with strangers. 

  
Yet, Victor had a hard time imagining the quiet, sweet man with the lovely eyes doing something so opportunistic. Didn’t want to believe he could.

  
Going through the notifications rewarded Victor’s faith. Detroit hadn’t posted anything about their time together.

  
Celia, on the other hand, had spammed every platform imaginable with images from Victor’s time in the ski lift. Surprisingly good ones. Did the woman have some kind of telephoto lens with her at all times?  
  


Victor smiling, one arm around Detroit’s waist—the other man mostly obscured by Victor’s body. Victor and Detroit mid-kiss, neither face visible, but the activity unmistakable. Victor, blushing and positively aglow, smile wide and heart-shaped as he pulled away from Detroit, the other man’s glasses askew and face tilted down, hiding most of his face in the folds of the world’s ugliest scarf.

Already articles were popping up with titles like “Victor Nikiforov’s New Mystery Man,” and “Has Skating’s Most Elusive Bachelor Finally Been Caught?”

Thousands of comments on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and other places he barely used. Dozens of email messages to his PR account asking for comment, nearly as many from his PR agent requesting an explanation. Several more messages from his rink mates asking for details. Twenty-seven texts from Yakov, along with eight missed calls.

It all seemed a bit excessive, really. Worse, in all the noise of _everyone_ wanting to know about that moment, the one person he’d have welcomed questions from had said nothing. Because if Detroit had identified himself in any way, it’d have come up in the articles. And at least then Victor would have been able to reach out, would have known his _name._

Along with the rest of the world. Victor sighed. Put the phone away. “Well,” he muttered as food appeared though his appetite had gone MIA, “this is going to be a lovely little mess.”

Chris put down his own phone, eyes sympathetic. “It’ll blow over, Victor. This sort of thing always does.”

“Yeah,” Victor poked at his food, shoulders slumped. “Too bad it’ll probably scare him away in the process.”

A sharp gasp from across the table revealed Chris’s surprise, but the man—ever the best friend Victor could have—didn’t offer platitudes or even jokes. He stayed quiet, reaching out to pat Victor’s forearm in support.

  
They ate the rest of dinner in silence. And then Victor returned to his room to call Yakov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, somewhere else at the ski resort:
> 
> "Yuuri! Yuuri, you didn't tell me you made out with Victor Nikiforov!"  
> "Peaches! How do you even know about that?"  
> "There are photos. And news articles. You're famous!"  
> "Oh, god."  
> "Well, kind of famous. No one knows it's you. You're face isn't really visible."  
> "Then how?"  
> "The scarf! I recognized the scarf. I *made* you that scarf. Now, tell me everything!"  
> Yuuri just groans and tries to hide in his blankets for the rest of eternity.


	3. Meddling

Chris met Victor at the quiet little bistro with a sly grin. “Finally free?”

“Apparently, somehow actually wanting to be in a relationship with the person everyone thinks I’m dating is somehow worse than just paying that person to stay quiet?” Victor rolled his eyes. “I’m more valuable single and unattainable or something.”

“It’s your life, Victor,” Chris squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to be their perfect product. Yakov, at least, would understand.”

“I know. I just—ugh.” He tossed his head, flipping the hair from his eyes, though only for a second. “You know what, let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes, let’s.” Chris shot him a sly smile as they made their way to a small table in the corner. “Have you ever met Katsuki Yuuri?”

Victor frowned, most of his attention on the menu. “The Japanese skater? No, why?”

“His roommate and I are friends on social media and they’re in the area. I thought it might be fun to get together.”

“Chris,” Victor looked up from the menu and met his friend’s eyes. He knew that too casual tone. Chris was up to something. “If this is some kind of blind date or something--”  
  
  
“It can’t be a blind date if I’m _telling_ you who will be there. And it doesn’t have to be a date at all. I just think it’d be good for you to actually get to know some other skaters, Victor. Make friends. Yuuri and Phichit are good people.”  
  


“Really?” Menu recovered, Victor turned most of his attention to deciding whether or not to stick to his diet. “I’d heard Katsuki’s rather...cold. Plisetsky follows him—claims he has better step sequences than me--”  
  
  
“He does.”  
  


Victor dropped his menu and started at Chris in mock horror. “You traitor!” He couldn’t sustain it though. He’d die before admitting it but he’d become something of a fan of the Japanese skater ever since Yura forced him to watch Yakov’s footage of the man. The way the Japanese skater somehow created music with his movements, managed to be graceful even in his falls had intrigued Victor. Their mutual admiration of Katsuki had become the one point of friendly contact between himself and Yura.  
  


“Better ass, too. You can’t deny the boy is hot.” Chris smiled at the waiter and ordered smoothly for both of them, not even asking what Victor wanted.  
  
  
Brat. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve never been at the same competitions and all of Yakov’s footage is at a distance so I’ve never really gotten a good look at his face.” A fact Victor realized might be a bit odd, now that he thought of it, given how much time he’d spent enraptured by the man. But beauty took many forms, and Katsuki’s existed in his movement. Victor doubted his mere features could compare.

“Reeeaaally?” Chris’s grin took on Cheshire cat proportions. “Well then, this is going to be interesting. Tomorrow, lunch at the resort restaurant. You’ll come?”

Victor sighed. He kind of...didn’t want to meet Katsuki, didn’t want the ethereal creature made of music and motion to be collapsed down to a real, mortal being. On the other hand, if he _did_ meet the man, perhaps he could figure out why the other skater had such issues with jumps, maybe offer tips to fix it. And then, maybe, just maybe, Katsuki Yuuri could give Victor a real challenge on the ice.

It’d been so long since that happened, and Victor missed it. Besides, he needed a distraction from Mystery Boy With The Beautiful Eyes. “Sure,” Victor said, voice more eager than he’d intended, “but only if we get to skate afterwards.”

Chris’s grin took on a gleeful sharpness. “Oh, mon amie, of course.”


	4. Meetings

Victor slid into a booth across from Chris with a deep sigh. He looked around at the other two very empty spots with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

“Phichit texted.” Chris said without looking up from his phone. “They’re running a couple minutes late.”

“Convenient.” Victor looked at Chris with a smile. “What do I need to know in order to not completely embarrass myself or others?”

“Well...”

Chris said more, but Victor didn’t hear him because at that moment he spotted a very familiar messy head of black hair walk into the restaurant. Detroit. Here.

“I have to go.” Victor barely registered Chris’s sputtering response as he bolted out of the booth and over to his mysterious beautiful-eyed boy. He had to move fast before he vanished again.

So fast he slid on the floor right past his target and into the wall behind him. Hard. He bounced off and landed on his ass at Detroit’s feet. “Hi,” Victor managed with a breathy smile.

“Victor!” Detroit knelt down, a hand hovering over Victor’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Better now.” Victor beamed. “Where have you been hiding all this time? I missed you.”

Detroit gaped, those lovely eyes going wide and round. “Um...I...uh...”  
  
“Oh, hey!” The boy that appeared, as if from nowhere, leaned over and looked down at Victor so that his head, all dark hair and wide smile, appeared to hang upside down in mid-air. “Victor Nikiforov! It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Phichit,” Detroit said, tone both affectionate and put-upon, “let him at least get off the floor first.”

“Right, right.” The cheerful boy—Phichit apparently—stepped back as Detroit offered Victor a hand and more or less pulled Victor to his feet. So strong!

Barely refraining from swooning into Detroit’s arms, Victor twisted his hand to lace their fingers together. He might have to make nice with the other skater, but he’d be damned if he let his lovely boy escape again. At least not until he got a name and a phone number.

Victor offered his other hand to Phichit. “Victor, yes. And you must be Phichit Chulanont.”  
  
The boy shook his hand with a nod. “Yep.” He glanced down at where Victor’s hand remained held fast to Detroit’s. “And I see you’ve already met Yuuri.”

“Yuuri.” Victor’s eyes went wide and he turned to stare at Detroit. “You’re Yuuri Katsuki?” Victor stared. Unblinking for a long moment. Detroit was a skater. A great skater. Was, in fact, _Yuuri Katsuki._

Flushing bright pink, the boy looked away. “Oh. Yes. I--”

Victor had a brief moment to register the thought that Yura was going to _murder_ him for this. But, Victor didn’t care. He’d found his Beautiful-Eyed Boy _and_ he was the one skater that made Victor feel inspired again.   
  
Maybe he could choreograph something for Yuuri? Boyfriends did that sort of thing for each other, right? And Yuuri had kissed him, so he would want to be Victor’s boyfriend, yes.

  
Please let the answer be yes. He should probably ask. Or at least saw something. Anything.

Daze at least a bit wearing off, Victor squealed. “Oh my god!” He bounced on his heels a little. “You have to tell me how you managed to get that level four spin sequence in last year’s short program so fast. I tried it and kept tripping over my skates.”

“I—what?” Yuuri blinked, long and slow like a cat. “You...you know my skating?”

“You have the best PCS scores in the field, Yuuri.” Victor started dragging him towards the table where Chris waited with a grin. By the hand he still held. He intended to continue holding it until Yuuri agreed to be his boyfriend or made him let go. “Of course, I know your skating. What I did not know was that you wore glasses. Do you use contacts on the ice?”

“Oh, no. They irritate my eyes.” Yuuri still looked a bit pink as he slid into the empty side of the booth, Victor following right behind.

“Can’t have that.” Victor smiled softly as he gazed at Yuuri. “They’re such beautiful eyes after all.”

Across the booth, Victor caught Phichit and Chris grin at each other and share a high five. He’d have to remember to thank them later.

##

Detroit—Yuuri—turned out to be nothing at all like the cold, aloof man competitors described him as being. He also wasn’t nearly so forward or bold as his behavior on the ski lift suggested. Victor found the shy, blushing man to be a constant contradiction, and delightfully surprising as he slowly opened up over food and Makkachin pictures.

They didn’t discuss the ski lift or the tabloids. Not there, with Chris and Phichit throwing suggestive comments and amused glances at them. Victor also did not ask Yuuri to marry him the minute the man declared Makkachin the second bestest dog and whipped out pictures of his own toy poodle.

Victor figured that counted as more of a third date kind of question anyway. Did this lunch count as a date? Did the ski lift? Something else to figure out when he had Yuuri all to himself.

“What’s his name?” Victor slipped the question in while pressing against Yuuri’s side and cooing over a photo of the tiny poodle standing on his hind legs in a blue polka dot tutu.

Yuuri went stock still, eyes wide again. “Oh...uh...Vicchan.”

“That’s cute--” Victor started, only to be cute off by Phichit sounding far too delighted.

“It’s short for Victor. Ow!” Phichit winced.

  
“Yuuri.” Victor sat up, a slow, brilliant smile taking over his whole face. “Really?”

Slumping until his forehead rested on the table, Yuuri sighed. “I was twelve when I got him. And you, well, you’ve always been a big inspiration for me.”

Victor threw his arms around Yuuri and squeezed tight. “Chris,” he crowed, “my boyfriend named his _dog_ after me. And it’s a poodle! This is the Best. Day. Ever!”

In his arms, Yuuri once again went very, very still. “Boyfriend?” It came out as a choked whisper.

“Oh, yes.” Victor gave him one more tight squeeze. “I suppose we should talk about that. You’ll be my boyfriend though, won’t you, Yuuri?”

Across the booth, Chris and Phichit exchanged a look, and as if they’d rehearsed it, both took money from their wallets, placed money on the table, and left in perfect synchronization.

  
Victor would have been impressed if he’d had the spare emotional energy, but as it stood, it took all he had to keep breathing as he waited for Yuuri to answer.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered, barely audible, face buried in Victor’s neck. “Yes.”

##

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Victor says: "You'll be my boyfriend, yes?"  
> What Victor means: "You are amazing and I want you to be my boyfriend and I may already have a pinterest board or three dedicated to our wedding."  
> What Yuuri hears: "The tabloids think we're dating because you kissed me and now you have to pretend it means something or my reputation will be ruined."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor clears things up before they get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have been MIA a bit. Real life kicked me in the teeth a little bit. But I am back and doing my best. This is a slightly shorter than normal chapter, but I think it's needed to transition to the next part of the story: Victor and Yuuri vs. the Media. 
> 
> Also, if you read the last chapter right after it was posted, I added a little bit since then just expanding Victor's reaction to meeting Yuuri. It's not a lot and doesn't change anything in the actual plot.

Phichit pulled Victor aside the next day. “I love Yuuri, but he’s a ball of anxiety and insecurity. If you’re serious about being with him you have to tell him so very, very clearly.”  
  
  
Victor blinked. He’d expected something like a shovel talk from the smaller man, especially given the serious expression. Not...this. “I asked him to be my boyfriend. Isn’t that clear enough?”

“For normal people, sure.” Phichit sighed. “For Yuuri...not so much.” Rolled eyes and an affectionate smile, but the words were serious as Phichit continued. “He can manufacture reasons things don’t mean what he wants them to out of thin air and self-doubt.” He gestured to a window, a crowd of reporters waiting outside for Victor to appear. “This, it complicates things. Give Yuuri an excuse to cling to that isn’t you wanting to be with him for him.”

“Oh.” Victor stood a bit stunned for a moment. Did Yuuri not want to actually be with him?

Phichit must have seen the thought on Victor’s face because he slapped him across the shoulder. Hard. “Only one of you gets to be angsty at a time! Yuuri’s a shy little bean of a man who would normally never—and I mean _never—_ make out with someone he just met. Not even when drunk, and there isn’t a lot else he won’t do when drunk, Victor. He _likes_ you. A lot. You just have to make sure he knows you like him too.”

Victor beamed. “That I can do.”   
  
When Phichit offered his hand to shake, the deal struck, Victor’s smile never wavered. After all, he already _adored_ Yuuri. How hard could it be to make the boy see it?

##

Two hours later Victor silently thanked Phichit for his words of wisdom while also resisting the urge to shake some sense into Yuuri. Beautiful, charming, clueless Yuuri.

“So, I mean, are we supposed to have been dating for a while or...or...I mean how do you want to hand this?” Yuuri paced as he talked, face down, arms crossed against his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric bunched around his elbows.

They’d been having some variant of this conversation off and on for an hour now. They’d talk dogs and Yuuri would ask if he had met Makka yet, or Victor mentioned a restaurant he liked and Yuuri asked it they’d been supposed to have a date there.   
  
Victor appreciated Yuuri looking out for his image, but all he wanted was to spend time with his new boyfriend. A boyfriend that was perfect and sweet and already so much more than he ever expected to find. He didn’t need fairy tales. He just needed Yuuri.

If only he could get Yuuri to understand that. Well, Phichit said be clear and direct. He could do that. “Yuuri, solnyshko,” Victor caught his boyfriend by the waist and pulled Yuuri to sit in his lap. “why would we need to make something up? We have a perfectly wonderful love story already?”

Yuuri froze in his arms. “We...do? I mean, I basically accosted you in a ski lift. That’s not--”  
  
“I met the most beautiful boy in the world while on vacation, and it turned out that not only was he sweet and kind and willing to put up with a most ridiculous request, but also one of the most stunning skaters in the field today.” Victor leaned in and placed a quick kiss on Yuuri’s nose. “I don’t care what the media thinks, Yuuri. I like _you._ I like you a _lot,_ and I want to see what we can be together. Not for the press or Yakov or my image, but because being around you makes me happy. So, unless you’re not actually interested in being my real boyfriend--”  
  


“I am! I...” Yuuri flushed a deep crimson. “I like you, too. A lot.”

Victor beamed, relief causing him to collapse in and surround Yuuri in a tight hug. “Oh, thank god.” He never really believed Yuuri wanted the publicity of being with him, not like so many others had. But, it had crossed Victor’s mind the Japanese skater only agreed to be nice, to help out. Because he was that kind of guy, Yuuri.

  
“But, Victor,” Yuuri mumbled from where he’d pressed his face into Victor’s chest, “can we maybe not tell them you didn’t even know my _name_ when we made out in the ski lift? My sister would never let me hear the end of it.”

Victor paused for a moment, the ridiculous of their first meeting truly hitting home for the first time. And then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed until tears rolled down his face, Yuuri’s shoulders shaking and rich chuckle joining him.

  
Good. They were going to be so good together. And then something else struck Victor. “Wait? You have a sister?”

This set Yuuri off to laughing again, so hard he fell out of Victor’s lap and unto the floor. Without hesitation, Victor slid off the couch to join him, stretching out and just watching those beautiful eyes dance and that brilliant smile light up the room.

Victor couldn’t remember ever being this happy before, and when Yuuri stopped laughing, eyes wide, and leaned down to kiss him, it all just got even that little bit better.


End file.
